


Just Forget The World

by superfandomqueen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accident, Character Death, F/F, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hurt Lance (Voltron), I WENT OVERBOARD OOPSIE!!, Insecure Lance, Langst, Lots of drama, M/M, Mechanic Keith (Voltron), Minor Acxa/Ezor/Narti/Zethrid - Freeform, Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Allura/Pidge | Katie Holt, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Mutual Pining, Race Car Driver Lance, Sadness, Slow Burn, Street Racers AU, Street Racing, have fun reading, past lance/lotor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfandomqueen/pseuds/superfandomqueen
Summary: Lance is a street racer. He loves the adrenaline rush, the way the engine rumbles, his team. Lance is an up and coming racer, making his way up the ranks. He's good enough to outdo even the reigning champ Zarkon. But more then that, Lance has three kids he is co-parenting with his sister. He really didn't need some hot asshole to catch his eye.Keith is a mechanic. He enjoys tinkering on cars and fixing them up again. Good friends with the street racer team Voltron. He can't deny he wants a new project when his best friend, Pidge, brings in something even they can't fix on their own. What he didn't know was who would be brought along.





	Just Forget The World

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic in companion to @c_killjoy_ 's comic on Twitter. (I'm @FanQueenJoann on Twitter.) This is originally her idea, then I jumped on the band wagon and it's grown....a lot.

Leaning his arm on the open window of his car door, Lance lined up his car.

“ _Get serious, Lance!_ ” Pidge hissed through his headphones.

“I am no _Sirius Black_ , Pidgey,” Lance joked, keeping his eye on the flagger girl.

“ _Roll up your window, dumbass!_ ”

“I am, I am!” Lance chuckled, but followed their instructions. “This isn’t my _first_ time, honey.”

He could practically see their eye roll as he grinned. His eyes skimmed past the other racers. For a small race of five, there was 3 teams.

Of course the big teams had more than one racers each. The Galra Team were big time champions and one of the biggest drag racing teams there was in New York. The Blue Paladin could pick out three Galra racers. Zarkon in the classic black Chevrolet Impala with wide purple stripes on the side and two twin red marks on the hood -- the Galra logo. Provok’s purple Mazda with the identical red details on the hood, the reminded Lance of angry looking scratches. Raht’s dark gray Mazda.

Then there was the Rebellion racer, Nyma. The one team that was smaller than Voltron. A beautiful midnight 1980 Porsche, it almost made Lance jealous, if he didn’t have his cobalt blue Mustang.

Ready for the signal from the flag. Reeving his baby, Blue, ever so much. The flash of the checked flag, he was gone.

Foot on the gas pedal, Lance cruised by the 4th and 3rd cars, Raht and Provok. Neither of them were as good as Zarkon or Nyma. _Or_ Lance. He didn’t think he was arrogant about it, but he had risen through the ranks and got into paying spots quickly since he had started racing.

Pressing on his brake ever so slightly, Lance frowned, making sure to keep an eye on the car right behind him. With practiced ease, Lance dragged his car around the corner in a drift.

 _And there it was_.

Provok pulled in beside of him. He was probably smirking at him as the other racer passed in front of him, pulling a dirty trick with knowledge that he’d slow.

Lance muttered a quick curse under his breath.

Lance jerked his wheel, pressing a little more on the gas, and drifted around the corner.

“ _Lance, what is going on in there?_ ” Pidge asked through the comms after Lance cursed again.

“Blue is working well, but the Galra crew are asses,” Lance ground out. Narrowly missing Nyma’s car as Lance straightened out Blue.

Lance heard Pidge’s huff. At least it was a _small_ race of 5 racers.

Lance forced his baby into another drift, wincing at the screeching of tires and smell of burnt rubber. A small twitch of his lips as he focused on the straight stretch, speeding up. The houses flew by, one of the favored urban areas for drag races. Newly plotted to be suburbs once the buildings were finished, but for now it was a particular favorite spot for races.

The planted trees made it look uniform and picture perfect when it was paired with _literal white picket_ fences. Each house near identical, two floors, a porch, and yard area.

Turning another corner, Lance’s eyebrow ticked at the sight of the half circle of the Rebellion team, Nyma’s Porsche holding the corner perfectly.

Doing a quick run over the track in his head again, Lance knew there was two more corners and then a straight stretch to the end of the race, marked by a cheesy finish line marker overhead with lamp posts on either side of the road.

Turning the final corner, Lance shifted into a higher gears. The barest glance between him and Nyma as he passed her easily, shifting again. Taking advantage of the straight stretch, Lance pressed harder on the gas.

As the line came closer, Lance counted the feet down.

_50_

There was less than 5 feet between him and the only other that could win.

_40_

Edging up beside it, Lance focused on the road and watched the rig out of the corner of his eye.

_30_

Blue’s nose passed the other, Lance pressed on the gas to slip by.

_20_

Pulling in front of the other, Lance prepared for shifting down. Noting that it was a Galra car -- the familiar purple striped Chev -- in his rearview mirror, Lance passed over the finish line. The people standing at the finish line to get a good look at the winner were blurs as he sped by. The dusk time making their faces unintelligible.

He was almost disappointed that Lotor wasn’t there, it would’ve been more entertaining. The other racer usually trying and sometimes succeeding in hacking their private communications.

“ _You did it, Lance!!!_ ” Pidge cheered in his headphones.

“I told you this one was gonna be easy, Pidge. We are racing against a bunch of rookies after all,” Lance joked, easing Blue into a lower gear and cruised around the small bend.

“Stop being cocky and come back!”

“Fine. Fine. I’m on my way.”

Curving around the arc in the road, Lance was jolted forward.

“What the Hell?” Lance glanced into his rearview mirror as his bumper was hit again. Trying to keep his car going straight, Lance focused back on the road, exchanging one hand to two hands on the wheel. Clenching his teeth, Lance glanced back at the the following car.

The next _love tap_ on his bumper making the car fishtail. Overcorrecting Blue sent the Mustang car into a slide. Off the road, rear end first, Lance pressed against the brake only slowing it a bit. Slamming into something, Lance’s head hit the steering wheel.

The faint roar of a motor pulled away, leaving Lance in ringing silence.

“ _\--Ance! Lance! What the Hell happened?! Lance!_ ” Pidge’s voice bombarded him.

Lance groaned softly, their voice far too loud as he came around. The seat belt cutting into him painfully, it felt like his stomach was crawling up his throat. Pushing away from the steering wheel, he fumbled with the release mechanism. Moving the belt out of his way Lance found a million and a half aches throughout his body.

“Can’ya low vo’ce?” Lance slurred, trying to ignore the buzzing in his ears. Spots danced across his vision, however long it had been it had gotten significantly darker. It was a dusk race to begin with, so it could’ve been a short time. _Or_ a while. Searching blindly with his hand, Lance tugged on the door handle.

The door gave away, sending him out it unceremoniously. Somehow his headphones hadn’t gone far, picking himself up and balanced on Blue, Lance grabbed -- well _tried_ to grab his headphones. A bought of nausea had him leaning all of his weight against the doorway while _attempting_ not to barf.

Clumsily, Lance managed to get ahold of headphones and bring it close enough to hear.

“ _Lance, what the Hell?! Where are you?! We’ve been trying to talk to you for a half hour already!_ ”

“ _Well, it was 18 minutes_ ,” Hunk corrected. “ _Where are you, man?_ ”

Lance’s chest constricted, he couldn’t tell them.

“I, uh, lost control and overcorrected Blue when she fishtailed,” Lance mumbled.

“ _Lance, you’re going to have to say that again. We didn’t get a word of what you just said_ ,” Allura said, concerned etched throughout her voice.

Taking in a deep breath, Lance steadied himself. Forcing to look at the damage, Lance felt himself blanch.

“ _Quiznack_ ,” Lance hissed, the action simultaneously make the pounding in his head double in pain and allow him to see the amount of carnage _on the outside_ of the car. Specifically the rear end of the car. “You’re going to have to bring something to haul ‘er back.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Lance swallowed harshly, he _really_ didn’t want to cry. It would make his headache worse for sure. Not to mention the nausea and headache combo was already Hell for him.

“ _Nyma mentioned something about you being off the road_ ,” Coran’s voice broke through the background.

“ _We’re on our way! Stay put!_ ”

With a dry hoarse laugh, Lance responded, “Where would I be going?”

 _Other_ than his night shift at the bar Apollo’s Lunar.

Letting out a small pained grunt, Lance allowed himself to sit back down. Laying his head against the headrest, Lance counted his breathing. Pulling out his thankfully intact phone, Lance squinted at the brightness.

“Fucking Hell,” Lance muttered. He was going to be late to his shift. He was supposed to do the race, let his team collect the money, and get a ride to the bar for his shift. Holding the phone away from his ear as it rang absurdly loud.

There was a click on the other end, and a familiar feminine voice, “ _This is Ezor Sanchez speaking._ ”

“Hey,” Lance croaked out, wincing at the sound of his voice. He sounded like crap.

“ _Lance? Why the fuck do you sound like you got beat over the head?!_ ” Ezor’s _all business_ tone switched to worry in a bat of an eyelid. Breathing deeply through his nose, Lance squeezed his eyes shut against the oncoming headlights. “ _You were racing tonight, right? What happened?_ ”

“I’m fine. My car hit a lamp post though. I’m going to be late to work,” Lance started, already feeling the telltale urge to ramble. “Pidge will have to look at it and Hunk will probably drive me--”

“ _Shut the fuck up, Lance! I don’t care if you’re late, I care if you’re_ alive _. Jesus, you have spent too much time around Lotor._ ” Lance could hear the difference in her voice, she was probably cupping her hand over the receiver. “ _Go home and you can just make up for it tomorrow. You could be concussed!! Allura will_ smartly _try to keep you from going anywhere! If you are concussed, be_ careful _!_ ”

Lance wasn’t sure how he had managed to forget how worried Ezor got over his health. The tone was eerily familiar to the same as it was just over a year ago. His breath caught in his throat at the thought, at the memory. _Fuck cars some days._

“Okay, okay, I won’t swing by tonight,” Lance relented, wanting desperately to be away from the concerned tone. “See you tomorrow night then.”

“ _See you tomorrow_ ,” Ezor agreed, a promise and a warning in one. Ending the call, Lance noticed the engine had cut. Not Blue’s, but the other one. That would mean...

“Lance!” Pidge called out. _Why did they have to be so_ loud _?_ Lance squinted at headlights and gave his friends a half hearted wave. “ _Jesus_ , what happened?”

“I overcorrected Blue from a fishtail,” Lance answered, keeping to his earlier statement. He _couldn’t_ let them know what had happened. “And the rear end was introduced to the lamp post.”

Lance heard his voice become quieter as he spoke as he leant into the car seat.

“Well, let’s get you into the truck and we’ll get her picked up in the morning,” Pidge decided, waiting for Lance’s miniscule nod.

Lance felt himself being pulled into the familiar arms of his best friend. The repeating thought of _they can’t know_ spinning like a merry-go-round in his head.

“Let’s get you home,” Hunk murmured into Lance’s hair, the big guy picking him up in his arms bridal style with smooth ease. If this was any other time, Lance would either pout or make a flirty joke, if his head didn’t feel like it was being split in too.

Lance couldn’t find it in him to fight the pull of sleep.

“Hey! You do not get to sleep until we get ‘Lura to check up on you!” Pidge snapped, they got in beside him and pinched his arm. He mumbled something he couldn’t remember but complied.

 

~~

  


As it turned out, Lance _did_ have a concussion. His team took turns making sure he was awake every hour. At least they had decided to go after Blue that night. The wait for Coran and Hunk to return with his Mustang was excruciating. Pidge forced him to watch a movie with them, elbowing them every time he started to drift off.

When they _finally_ got back to the Voltron garage, Pidge had started looking over it. Painfully, it was already the middle of the night and Coran and Allura looked like they were about to buckle and head to sleep. If Lance wasn’t being too loud as he paced behind Pidge.

“Can you fix her? How bad is it?” Lance already lost count of what he had all asked, let alone the number of repeating the same damn questions. The mere _thought_ of Blue needing serious fixing nearly had him panicking. Lance wasn’t sure just how much _money_ it would take to get her fixed up, but he already knew it would be plenty, even if it was just Pidge doing it.

“Would you shut it! I can’t think or assess with you breathing down my neck!” Pidge exclaimed, their fingertips pressed to their temple as if they were trying to alleviate a growing headache. The older man winced, he was be the cause of _that_.

“How bad is it though? How much is the cost to get it fixed?”

His only excuse was how much he was freaking out, in the back of his head Lance was calculating how much he could spare and adjusting other parts of his and his sister’s budget, if it would be better to get a new car or repair the old one.

It was probably the 25th time of Pidge’s pacing with Lance right on their heels when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Lance,” Allura said, putting far too many unspoken words into his name for him to even attempt at dissecting at that moment. “Sit down and let them do their thing.”

Sucking in a deep breath and blocking out the lights, Lance knew logically -- Allura was right. Even if he wasn’t thinking completely logically and more on the freak out side, he knew she was right. He allowed himself to be lead back to the couch and stretch out on the old couch.

Feeling a faint buzz in his blue Voltron jacket pocket, Lance pulled out his phone. A new message lit up the screen.

 

 **Loony Overdramatic The Official Ridiculous:** _i hope u feel better soon. b careful_

 

The Cuban felt his lips twitch, the two of them might not talk as much as they used to, but it nice to know he care.

 

 **The One The Only!!! <3 <3: ** _lotor is losing his head over here he denies it but he is worrying about you Lancey-Lance_

 

Lance tapped the password in, glancing past his phone at Allura who was moving his feet so she could sit down. Again.

 

 **Lancey-Lancelot:** _sorry bout that tell him ill be there tommorow and i can explain DW_

 

Lance laid the phone on his chest face down, accidentally giving into the yawn. Letting his head loll to the side, Lance fell silent, hearing the faint music playing in the background as he watched Pidge and Hunk do their thing.

Nudging Allura with his foot, Lance wasn’t going to sit in this silence alone. If he did than _he’d_ be the loony one. Allura raised her eyebrow, but squirmed around so she was situated in beside him and held the phone in front of his face.

Amusing themselves with watching Facebook videos about making and decorating overly fancy and buried in icing cakes, Lance fought off sleep.

 

~~

 

Lance felt like utter _Hell_ the next morning. Allura had ended up falling asleep next to him after about 30 videos. There was a crick in his neck and Allura had made him into a teddy bear. Lance didn’t still have the crush he had on her at the beginning of their time together, she reminded him too much of Veronica. In mostly good ways, but half a million bad ways.

He wasn’t excited for the day his sister Veronica and Allura would meet. The thought was terrifying enough without the reality.

_Oh fuck! Veronica!_

Turning on his phone, acknowledging the low battery, and seeing the over 50 text notifications from Veronica. The Cuban groaned. He was _so_ fucked and _not_ in a good way.

That was when the phone decided to start ringing a familiar ringtone, one signaling his death. May as well start planning his funeral now! Lilies were good flowers for a funeral, right?

 

_Holy water_

_Cannot help you now_

_See I’ve come to burn_

_Your kingdom down_

 

Lance was starting to regret giving Veronica _Seven Devils_ by Florence + The Machine as a ringtone. It never felt this ominous before.

Wiggling out of underneath Allura, Lance swiped _ACCEPT CALL_ on his phone and took a deep breath.

 _I am_ so _screwed._

“Hey, sis!” Lance chirped, forcing a cheerful tone into his voice. Taking the time to look around the room, it was deserted. The only ones there were him and Allura now.

“Don’t _‘hey sis’_ me, mister!” Veronica McClain-Serrano growled out. “You didn’t come home last night! Do you _know_ how worried I was?! Not one word from you! I sent you over _fifty_ texts!”

“I know. I know! I’m sorry,” Lance apologized. “I meant to, I really did, but by the time I remembered, it was too late and I didn’t want to wake you up!”

“You _always_ call me at 9PM, what was so different about this?” Veronica demanded.

Lance looked around the room and made sure Allura was still asleep, watching the rhythmic rise and lower of her chest. stepping away from the couch and lowering his voice, “I got rear ended last night, Vero. I was shaken up and had a concussion, everyone was keeping an eye on me because of that and checking out Blue.”

There was a hiss on the other end, followed by a blue streak of curses.

“Be glad the kids are used to you being gone at this time, or else they’d be questioning it. I know you don’t want them to know about this, but I don’t want to have to be the one to explain it to them. Don’t die, dumbass. You need to be careful in those races. _You_ should know this well, you do know more about _that case_ than anyone else outside the force,” Veronica stated, her voice dropping as well. Glancing at the time, Lance realized she was dropping their nephew and nieces off at school. She must just be on her way to work. “See you tonight, kiddos!”

Or _just_ dropping them off.

Lance ran a hand through his hair, hearing the car door slam on the other side of the phone.

“I’ll be getting the verdict on the car today,” Lance added, breaking the silence. He heard a sigh.

“Okay, let me know what is happening later. I got to get to work.”

Lance hummed an affirmative. “Vero...I probably will have to move in.”

Veronica inhaled sharply. “Is it that bad?”

“Probably. I didn’t get a good look at it last night, but it looked bad.”

“ _Shit_.”

Empathically, Lance hummed. “ _Shit_ indeed.” Inhaling deeply, Lance tugged a bit on his hair. “Talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later,” Veronica parroted, ending the call.

The door swung open, Coran came in, whistling some tune that Lance knew was familiar but couldn’t place.

“Oh good! You’re awake!”

“Morning,” Lance replied with a nod. Stretching, Lance yawned and crossed the room to where the coffee pot was kept. Slipping around the couch and loveseats that sat in front of the TV, and into the kitchen and eating area.

“How did you sleep?”

“As well as you possibly can on a couch squished on there with another person.”

Lance could’ve rejoiced. There was already a pot of coffee made. If that didn’t mean Pidge either didn’t leave or came back early. Probably the former over the latter.

Sipping on his mug of coffee, the cup nearly overdosing level of sugar and cream, Lance absorbed the warmth. Now free of his blanket, Lance was beginning to feel chilly. His stomach trying to make itself known by demanding food.

“What’s the verdict?” Lance asked, quietly. Coran glanced at him, looking away from his job of making a peanut butter and pickle sandwich, but didn’t answer. The disgusting sandwich was telltale enough, Pidge hadn’t slept. He felt kinda guilty, knowing that they were probably pouring over Blue and assessing the damage done. It was even worse that they think it was entirely his fault. “That bad huh?”

Coran didn’t answer, Lance set aside his cup of deliciously warm coffee and opened the fridge door. Digging through the contents, Lance decided on what he’d attempt to feed his friends.

Silently, Lance moved around the Voltron HQ’s kitchen. Putting on his favorite playlist while he worked. Blanking out on how long it took, Lance made eggs and toast, downing at least 3 cups of coffee before losing count and getting jittery.

By the time Pidge shuffled in, Lance was singing _Everytime We Touch_ loudly, to which Allura was covering her ears and glaring. With a ‘wtf’ look, Pidge poured themself a cup of constitution juice and sat beside their girlfriend. Laying back on Allura, Pidge threaded their fingers through her fingers and muttered something too softly for Lance to pick up on.

Bouncing on his feet, Lance moved the fry pan from the stove into the tiny table and was pulling out another round of toast. Blowing on his fingers, Lance yelped at the temperature and dropped them on the counter.

“Jesus, Lance, will you chill out? How much coffee have you had?” Pidge asked, narrowing their eyes at him.

“Not enough to feel alive inside~”

“What?” Pidge stares at him like there was a second or third head growing from him.

“And here I thought you were a vampire,” Hunk drawled, appearing through the door. Going to his specific section of the cupboards that held the tea was enough for Lance to know Hunk hadn’t slept.

“And I thought you’d sleep, like a normal person, Handsome Hunk,” Lance said, booping his nose and grinning.

“Over 3 cups of coffee and feeling barely alive?”

Lance laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking with the might, a smile tinged with a strange hysteria of nowhere near enough sleep painted on his face. “You mean every morning of my existence as a night bartender.”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but close enough,” Hunk agreed, a smile and chuckle of his own accompanying his friend’s insanity.

Silene fell around them, only the sounds of scraping of plates and cutlery.

“What’s the verdict?” Lance asked, sliding his plate onto the counter. Pidge and Hunk froze, glancing at each other. Neither answering. Lance nodded, rocking on the balls of his feet. “ _That_ bad huh?”

The want not to know _just how bad_ it was and the need to know warred. Lance reluctantly chose the logical side, it was necessary, even if it was only to rebalance his budget.

He thought he had prepared himself for the evaluation.

It was _nowhere_ near enough.

~~

 

Lance was dreading the conversation, but it wasn’t avoidable. Even more so when she was standing outside his door. One good thing about living in different apartments, they could talk without having to be wary of the kids hearing too much.

Veronica watched him unimpressed, easily accepting the cup of tea as he curled into the corner of the couch. Lance swished his tea around his cup, absentmindedly noting the time.

“How bad?” Veronica finally asked.

Lance let out a whistling sigh. “Bad.” Swallowing, Lance took a sip of his tea. “Pidge is estimating between 10 to 20 thousand, just for fixing the back end and replacing it. Not to mention all of the other parts that could be replaced and tuned up. Coran said he’d talk to a mechanic friend about the prices and maybe getting them to do it, if that’s what I decide.”

“Oh?” Veronica raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about it first.” Lance frowned, not meeting his sister’s eyes. “Even if I don’t go through with it, I’d have to move in with you. It’d be simpler than finding a new apartment, but with the cost...it’d be a few months and things would be going screw-balled. With the cost of the apartment, the possibility it could go up. I--”

“Lance,” Veronica cut off his rambling. “I understand. Racing isn’t _just_ about the good money, but in a way it’s a stress reliever. When art doesn’t work. The important question is, do you think it’s worth it? To replace the rear end? To keep racing period? Not to get a new car?”

Lance kept silent for a few minutes, mulling over the questions as the siblings silently drank their tea. “I still think it’d be best for me to move into your apartment. But to the other questions...hmmmm….it’s...well… _I_ think it’s worth it. The pay is good. It’s cheaper to replace the rear end then buying a whole new car and getting it suited up for the job.” Lance bit his lip, trailing off and still refusing to look up at his sister.

“If you stop racing, you think they won’t want you around anymore? That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Lance hated the tone Veronica had, he hated how she was right.  “ _Lance_ , I know you know, but I will say _this_ again and again as much as you need. Your fucking insecurities are lying to you. Your friends, your team care about you more than just for your driving skills.”

Lance itched the back of his neck. He appreciated the words, it helped _some_ , not banishing everything. Words only did so much. He knew she appreciated that they had a full disclosure with each other, that they would tell each other _everything_ that is necessary to know. Even if they wouldn’t tell others.

“Thanks, Vero.”

They finished their first cup.

“What happened last night?” Veronica asked. Lance didn’t want to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t let it drop until he answered.

“I said I was rear ended,” Lance responded, tone light. Veronica narrowed her eyes at him. “There were no cameras around.”

Veronica’s eyes widened then turned into an angry scowl.

“You’re not suggesting what I _think_ you’re suggesting?”

“I might be,” Lance answered, avoiding a solid answer. “I have to go, or I’ll be late for my shift. I’ll pack tomorrow and move, if that works for you.”

“It works fine for me,” Veronica agreed, allowing the previous subject to drop _for now_. “Are you going to get Coran’s friend to work on the car?”

“I’m thinking about it. I’m waiting for the estimates first, weigh the budget and see if I -- we -- can afford it.”

~~

 

Ezor was eyeing him up from down the bar, Lance ignored the looks and the apprehension that accompanied them. He forced himself to focus on his job. Fixing drinks, taking orders, pouring glasses, listening to people’s woes of the evening. Why his boss wouldn’t stop staring at him was not on the schedule.

Lance grinned at one of the customers in front of him flipping the drink mixer in his hands, showing off well enough to impress them. He chucked it over his shoulder and catching it easily in his other hand. Smoothly pouring up the alcohol, he winked as he slid it to the woman, getting a giggle in return.

“So?” Ezor started, sidling up to him during the next lag of the nearly overwhelming wave of customers. Lance silently worked next to her, flicking his eyes to her and then back to what he was doing.

“So what?”

“Two shots of whiskey,” another person called. Drunk off their ass from the way they were swaying and giggling. Lance tipped the whiskey bottle and filled up the glasses. Setting them in front of the requestor before moving on.

“What happened last night?” Ezor asked, her tone too off to get the casual one she was going for.

The Cuban filled two mugs of beer and passed them off. Adjusting the towel over his shoulder, Lance glanced to his boss before answering. “I fishtailed, hit a lamp post, got a concussion.”

He picked up a cup, looking at it from different angles. Wiping it out even though it was clean, Lance needed something to do with his hands. Glancing around Lance couldn’t find anyone needing his help, reluctantly he resigned himself to whatever Ezor wanted.

Ezor’s expression switched from the feigned calm and casual to full blown concern. The tall, lanky woman squeezed his shoulder lightly. Lance smiled softly. Crazy as they were, Lance was glad they were friends. Lance set his own hand on top of his, setting the glass he was wiping on the counter.

“You’re not one to screw up while driving,” Acxa drawled lightly, the Korean woman leaning back into her taller girlfriend, Zethrid. Zerthid was a large woman, Lance could admit that she was intimidating. That didn’t stop her from claiming him as a good friend, Lance also could admit both Pidge and Allura scared the shit out of him occasionally. Having scary friends was both good and bad for him. Mainly for his heart...and sex life, if he was being honest.

“It happens to the best of us,” Lance said simply, returning to his job. Missing the shared looks between the three.

A tan hand appeared in his vision, making him go cross-eyed to see, and flicked his forehead. Lance raised his eyes to meet Narti’s eyes. The unimpressed look was all too familiar on the Indonesian’s face. She signed quickly, greeting and scolding him in one sentence.

“On that note,” Ezor said carefully. “We need to talk to you.” Leaning past him, Ezor gestured to one of the other workers. “Nyma, take over for Lance, will’ya?”

“Sure,” Nyma agreed. Competition or not, they got along well during their shifts. Nyma shot him raised eyebrows, asking what it was about. All Lance could do in return was shrug.

Lance resisted the urge to tap his fingers on his leg as he followed four women into the back. Ezor sat on the desk in front of Lotor, Acxa and Narti taking the couch, and Zethrid doing her thing and lurking in the corner, looking terrifying as usual.

“Is there any particular reasoning to why I’m here?” Lance asked, shifting uncomfortably at the door.

“Lance, sit,” Lotor instructed, waving his hand to the couch.

Lotor’s words set him on edge, if he didn’t know better it would sound like they were about to fire him. It, for lack of better words, more than a little freaky and scary. Lance followed through with it though tossing out a smirk.

“Ordering me around again, are you?” Lance teased, perching on the arm of the couch. Ezor snickered simultaneously as Acxa and Zethrid rolled their eyes. Lance couldn’t see what Narti did, but that didn’t stop him from commenting, “Is Narti signing behind me?”

Narti appeared next to him and Lance turned to her, watching her sign, “ **You two should stop.** ”

Lance laughed louded, a grin stretching across his face, nearly forgetting why he was there. Not knowing the reasons to Ezor’s request.

“Why am I here?” Lance asked, cutting to the chase. Veronica wasn’t his sister for no reason, they don’t beat around the bush for long. No one lost their relaxed positions, leaving Lance hopeful.

“We want you to take paid leave,” Lotor stated, leaning forward in the leather spinny chair.

“What?” Lance’s brow creased, a frown replacing his grin.

“Take a few days to straighten things out,” Ezor offered, flipping her long pink-purple-blue-orange-teal ponytail over her shoulder. (Lance loved her hair, but wouldn’t go through dying his own. The upkeep would be Hellish.) “Your car got wrecked, you have budgets to balance and things to figure out.”

Lance opened his mouth to object, getting cut off by Zethrid.

“I will enforce it!” the pink-purple haired woman declared, staring him down fiercely while patting her...well defined biceps. (Lance was certain that his head was smaller then her arms.)

Surrounded by Acxa Young, Zethrid Argent, Narti Bane,and  Ezor Sanchez….and Lotor Dibazal, Lance McClain-Serrano held no chance at resisting a (though he denied it) well-deserved paid leave.


End file.
